


Witcher's Soul

by cleo4u2



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, First Kiss, First Time, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Love, Making Up, Mutual Pining, Songfic, the apology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22708009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2
Summary: Geralt hears a new phrase, witcher’s soul, to describe people who run away. He doesn’t know where it comes from, but soon learns Jaskier has written a new song. A song about all the secrets Geralt thought were hidden, but never were. Now if Jaskier will forgive him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 13
Kudos: 312





	Witcher's Soul

**Author's Note:**

> No beta. All errors are my own. 
> 
> Song is inspired by Colder Weather by Zac Brown Band. I’ve changed many of the lyrics, but definitely own nothing.

Geralt hears it for the first time after the dragon, the mountain, and the words he can never take back. A woman is crying inside a home in the village he’s passing through. He stops nearby, to check that Roach’s saddle straps are tight, not to get involved.

“Well, what did you expect?” a woman’s voice says. A different one than the cryer, as the sobs don’t let up. “The man has a witcher’s soul.”

Geralt stiffens as the sobs double in volume. The sound could be heard by any human now and Geralt doesn’t need the hassle of another Witcher’s abandoned tryst. He wants to know what that means, a witcher’s soul, but doesn’t ask. Satisfying his curiosity isn’t worth learning about whatever new myth the humans have concocted about his kind. It won’t be flatter, of that he’s sure.

He hears it again only a week later, in the next town over. Roach needs new shoes and Geralt is waiting outside the blacksmith. With nothing else to do, Geralt has been sharpening his swords while listening to the nearby marketplace for any leads on his next job. Instead, he hears all about a young man who’s run off to follow his dream of becoming a bard instead of staying at the village to help run his family’s farm. Apparently, he is an only child and his parents are getting on in years. 

The townsfolk are not impressed.

“A witcher’s soul,” one says before he spits on the ground.

_Ah_, Geralt things. _That’s what it means._

He still doesn’t know where the phrase came from, but that’s not important. It’s taken hold and Geralt knows he’s likely to hear it for the rest of his days.

\----

Near Oxenfurt, Geralt rides past a field where a young girl is tending a heard of goats while singing to herself. He doesn’t pay her any mind. The countryside around these parts is safer than most, thanks to its proximity to such a major city and the day is bright and warm. For once, he’s just enjoying the ride.

Then he hears those two words sung, clear and bright as the noon sun, “You’ve got a witcher’s soul to blame and you were born for leaving.”

Geralt’s not sure if it’s a curse or a blessing, but she only sings the chorus. Over and over, she sings and sings the same words. They chase him down the road as he rides away, crashing against, only to run around and around his head when he can’t hear them any more.

He knows who wrote them. 

__

_He said I wanna see you again,  
But I'm stuck in colder weather,  
Maybe tomorrow will be better,  
Can I see you then?  
She said, you're ramblin' man.  
You ain't ever gonna change.  
You gotta witcher’s soul to blame  
And you were born for leaving. _

There’s no doubt in Geralt’s mind that Jaskier has written the lyrics. The more they repeat in his mind, the more certain he is that the song is about _him_. About him and Jaskier. Yennifer would have never said such gentle words about him and all the hurt that had been born on that mountain side. Certainly not about the pain he left in his wake. There are no other options of who it could be, either. There’s Yen and Jaskier; no one else mattered.

It’s a thought that hasn’t bothered him before, but now it swirls like the catchy tune stuck in his brain. He can’t _not_ think about it, or about Jaskier.

The decision to enter Oxenfurt is easy. If Jaskier is anywhere, it will be his home. A few question later and the hunch is confirmed. A Redanian baron requested he perform and the entire city is abuzz with excitement. Who’s invited, who isn’t, what Jaskier will play, what he’ll wear, what the baron and his guests will wear. Geralt doesn’t care about the details, not when the bard is so easy to find.

Though he hasn’t been invited, Geralt went anyways. He ditched his armor for a tunic and soft breeches in an effort not to stand out more than necessary. The Baron’s mansion is on the lips of everyone and effortless to find, as easy as climbing the back wall once the sun goes down. The festivities are in full swing, candles lighting a beautiful garden while men and women swish about in brilliantly colored garments.

The music stops and, for a moment, Geralt thinks he’s been spotted. A hush falls over the gathered notables and Geralt wishes he’d brought his swords. Only, no one is looking at him. They’re looking at the center of the garden, where several torches light a white pavilion that stretches into the sky.

At Jaskier, he knows, when he hears that longed for voice project through the night air. “And for my last song, what you’ve all really come to hear.”

Expert fingers plucked lute strings in a surprisingly melancholic tune. Most everything Jaskier’s written was happy; a rousing tale of daring do, or adventure and victory. Even the words of this song are different, in a lower key that carries over the silent crowd as clear as if Geralt were by Jaskier’s side.

__

_She'd trade everything if he'd take her with him,  
Closes the door before the winter lets the cold in,  
And wonders if her love is strong enough to make him stay.  
She's answered by his horse’s hooves  
Resounding on the winding lane._

The crowd shuffles closer as the bard sings the chorus that has lodged in Geralt’s heart. It hides his advance, but also keeps Jaskier from his sight. Geralt doesn’t need to see him; he can hear every emotion in his music, everything the gathered fools can’t. And yet, Geralt _needs_ to see him.

The key shifts, the pace quickens, and Geralt’s heart lodges in his throat.

__

_Well it's a winding road,  
When you're in the lost and found.  
You're a lover, I'm a runner,  
And we go 'round and 'round.  
And I love you, but I leave you.  
I don't want you, but I need you.  
You know it's you who calls me back here, honey!_

Geralt’s heart pounds in his chest as he pushes his way through the crowd. Jaskier is singing the chorus again, his voice rich and powerful, full of longing and heartache and love. Geralt hardly hears it. Jaskier wasn’t supposed to know. No one was supposed to know. Geralt’s heart is a fortress, his emotions as flat on the surface as the myths claim. Jaskier would have said something if he knew, the man can’t keep a secret to save his life.

And yet, Jaskier sings Geralt’s part, and he’s singing about love. 

The music stops as Geralt pushes his way to the front. He isn’t spotted, though. Jaskier’s eyes are closed, his hands loose around his lute, as the night breathes in with him. When he sings again, there’s no music accompanying him, only his beautiful voice ringing in Geralt’s bones.

__

_When I close my eyes I see you,  
No matter where I am.  
I can smell your perfume through these whispering pines.  
I'm with your ghost again.  
It's a shame about the weather,  
But I know soon we'll be together,  
And I can wait 'til then.  
I will wait 'til then._

Dextrous fingers pluck the last notes as the crowd errupts with applause and praise that makes Geralt’s delicate hearing ring. Jaskier smiles, opens his eyes, and looks right at him. Just like that, the smile dies. So do the crowd’s cheers as Geralt steps forward despite the way his heart flutters.

The nobles whisper, but Geralt doesn’t listen. There’s only one man here who matters, and his eyes are as cold as winter.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says shortly.

Geralt’s tongue feels too big for his mouth as he asks, “Can we talk? Privately?”

“No.”

Ash and dust fill Geralt’s mouth. Desperation fills his chest. Jaskier ._knew._. He knew and he loved Geralt in return. It was impossible, improbably, but it happened. Only, Geralt threw Jaskier away like trash.

“Please,” he forces himself to say and then, when he can see the refusal in Jaskier’s eyes, he falls to his knees. Around him the whispers rise like a harsh wind through dead trees. “I… want to see you again.”

The words, or Geralt’s groveling, thaw the ice in Jaskier’s eyes. He even hurries over, catches Geralt’s hand, and pulls the witcher to his feet.

“Get up, you foolish, mountain of a man,” Jaskier grumbles.

Geralt doesn’t let go of that hand. Not as the crowd bursts into applause again, or as they leave the mansion’s walls. He holds tight as Jaskier leads the way through Oxenfurt’s streets to an inn where Jaskier must have been staying in for some time as the room is well lived in. The desk is piled with papers full of Jaskier’s small, curling writing. A chest full of clothing sits open against the window and the bed is unmade. But what draws Geralt in is the smell. Jaskier’s scent permeates the air; ink, wood oil, and that which belongs only to the bard.

Jaskier shakes him off then to take off his boots and place his lute in a corner. Only then does he turn to Geralt and say, “Well? Go on then. You make such a spectacle of yourself, I couldn’t resist if I wanted, so out with it. What do you have to say that’s so important?”

The sound of Jaskier’s rambling is it’s own music. Geralt listens, no cutting him off, and would have continued if Jaskier hadn’t stopped and glared at him.

“I’m sorry.”

The words come easy enough, likely because they’re true, yet Jaskier remains surprisingly unmoved.

“That’s it, then?” Jaskier asks after a silence. “Alright, you’re forgiven. Now be on your way.”

Geralt stares at Jaskier in bewilderment. He simply can’t understand. Jaskier knows how he feels and feels the same. If he’s forgiven, why isn’t that enough? Unless… 

Jaskier doesn’t love him any longer.

Geralt doesn’t know what expression passes over his face, but Jaskier’s morphs into anger.

“Oh, you thought that was it, did you?” His hands join his words, slashing through the air. “Come here, say you’re sorry, and I’d go back to being your dog? Follow at your heels, waiting for any scraps of affection you find base enough to toss my way? I have _far_ too much self-respect for that.”

The words are the hardest blow Geralt has ever taken.

Remembering the song’s lyrics, he says, “And you think I can’t change.”

“I think you don’t want to. Go back to your Path, Geralt. You don’t want me anyways.”

“You’re wrong,” Geralt blurts.

Jaskier snorts, his face contorting with derision.

“Actions mean more than words and your actions have written volumes on your contempt for me.”

“I love you,” Geralt’s shocked to argue. He’s never said those words before, and hasn’t expected to say them even now. Yet, there they are between them and their effect is horrible. The anger flows out of Jaskier like water. For once, he looks his age; all forty years. They’ve known each other since Jaskier was barely a man and only now is he letting this truth out. He’s wasted so much time. If he had been braver…

Geralt cuts that line of thought off quickly. The past cannot be changed, only the future. He wasn’t brave and Jaskier let him hide. Now he can learn from that mistake, if he risks his heart for a chance to make things right.

Into the silence, Geralt says, “I was afraid. You’re human and-”

“And I’ll die before you,” Jaskier interrupts, sounding tired and worn. “Yes, I know.”

“Probably,” Geralt agrees, “but… it’s not that. It _is_ that,” he amends when Jaskier scowls, but…”

“Melititle’s tits!” Jaskier shouts as Geralt hesitates yet again. “I have waited long enough! Spit it out or _get out_!”

Geralt flinches, but grits his teeth to say, “Rejection. Humans learn it young. Loving you and being rejected - I was afraid.” The surprise on Jaskier’s face is so much better than anything Geralt has seen on him so far, so he powers on even though the words feel torn from his chest. “If you walked away, if I chased you away, you would no longer have that power over me. 

“And then,” Geralt closed his eyes, “it worked. You were gone. And I missed you. Worse than missed you; I expected you and you were gone.”

Thickly calloused fingers brush Geralt’s knuckles. Geralt reaches out even as he opens his eyes, taking Jaskier’s hand in his own. The bard stands close at last, his face open and soft.

Jaskier smiles at him, if hesitantly.

“You were stuck in colder weather.”

Geralt nods fiercely.

“I cannot be your dog anymore,” Jaskier whispers.

Squeezing Jaskier’s hand, Geralt growls, “Never again.”

“The things you said,” Geralt opens his mouth to apologize again, but stops when Jaskier holds up his hand. “Let me speak. It broke my heart. You’ve been mean and it hurt, but that.” Jaskier shakes his head. “The next time you say such harsh, cruel things - no, _any_ careless jibe, and I will be done - forever - with you.”

“I accept.” Jaskier blinks quickly up at him at the instant response. “I won’t leave you again.”

The confusion shifts as a wild light appears in Jaskier’s eyes. Then Geralt smells it: fear. Rank and sour, it pours off Jaskier in waves.

“Jaskier -”

“I’m old, Geralt.”

“Jaskier -”

“No!” Jaskier takes a shaky breath, but holds Geralt’s gaze. “I can’t travel with you forever, so do not promise me _that_. I am old and I will grow older and you -”

“Won’t.”

Jaskier trembles.

“And you -”

“Have a witcher’s soul.”

Jaskier laughs even as tears spring to his eyes.

“At last I have all your words and you understand my mind, finish my sentences, only for _this_ to be our topic. The Gods are surely cruel.”

“Jaskier.” The bard looks away, but this time he doesn’t talk over him. “I won’t leave you. I promise.”

“So you’ll live here in Oxenfurt with me as I grow infirm and ugly and -”

Before Jaskier can finish, Geralt catches his chin and growls, “Jaskier. Yes.”

Jaskier blinks up at him again, like a startled doe.

“But…”

Geralt feels himself smile.

“I will still take contracts, but ones near to you, so I will always be near. I will come _home_, to _you_.”

“And you’ll tell me of your adventures?”

The hopeful lift to Jaskier’s question leaves Geralt feeling guilty all over again, but it’s the least of what he deserves.

“I will do my best.”

With a strangled cry, Jaskier flings himself the few inches between them and kisses Geralt hard. Their teeth clack together before he catches Jaskier’s head and takes control, deepening the kiss while gentling it. Jaskier’s hands fly over his chest, like birds without a perch.

“Geralt,” Jaskier murmurs, so Geralt kisses him again. Over and over, Jaskier whispers his name like a plea for mercy, and every time Geralt kisses him quiet. Somehow they make it to the bed while their clothes remain on the floor. With more of him to kiss, Geralt learns the taste of Jaskier’s skin and every way he can say Geralt’s name.

As a gasp when his nipples are tugged.

As a whimper as his cock is licked.

As a prayer when Geralt slips inside him.

Just the first syllable, shouted and choked off, as he comes.

As a whisper of thanks as Geralt lies atop him and his fingers ghost over scars and skin.

Geralt isn’t a god, but now he knows what it’s like to be worshipped. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy to say, “I love you.”

Jaskier hums, then bursts into laughter.

“Oh! Oh, Geralt, you should see your face just now! No, now, now; none of that.” He smiles as gentle as a Spring sunrise. “I love you, too. I have from the moment we met.”

Geralt frowns before rolling off Jaskier, onto his side. Jaksier rolls as well, so Geralt pulls him into his arms. They’ve wasted so much time, they can waste no more.

“Why did you never say?” Geralt asks.

“That I knew?” 

Geralt nods. 

Laying his head on Geralt’s arm, Jaskier says, “I thought you could tell how I felt. Everyone else could. If you knew, if I acknowledged that I knew in any way, you would leave me behind like you always threatened. Just because you loved me, didn’t mean you _wanted_ me. There was no reason to believe it meant you even liked me. I was happy with what you would let me have until…”

Geralt pulls Jaskier closer.

“Even then,” he goes on, “I still loved you, but it was particularly pathetic to crawl after you and I do have _some_ standards -”

“It’s the best you’ve ever written.”

Jaskier falls silent and leans back to look up at Geralt.

“What is?”

“Witcher’s Soul.”

Jaskier flushes pink at this praise.

“Oh.”

Before he can think himself out of it, Geralt says, “I missed your singing.”

The look in Jaskier’s eyes at the confession promises nothing but trouble. Geralt has never been so happy.

“You like my singing.”

Geralt hums.

“Did I say that?”

“Do not toy with me, Geralt of Rivia!”

“I would never toy with anyone.”

“Geralt!”

Laughing quietly, Geralt pulls Jaskier into a kiss. Against those plush lips, he whispers, “No one compares to my bard.”

**Author's Note:**

> **Come and visit Cleo on... places...**  
Tumblr: [@cleo4u2](http://cleo4u2.tumblr.com)  
Pillowfort: [Cleo4u2](https://www.pillowfort.io/Cleo4u2)  
Twitter: [@Cleo4u2](https://twitter.com/Cleo4u2)


End file.
